Changing Views
by Peasant Girl
Summary: This is a oneshot split up into parts if that makes any sense lol. Without knowing it, Hermione makes Draco change his views of life and he doesn't know what to make of it.


Okay, before you start reading: THIS IS NOT A DRAMIONE FANFICTION! Phew, okay, got that out :) Whenever I tell someone the plot line, they're like, "Oh, so it's a Draco/Hermoine ship." and it is NOT lol.

But anyways, this is going to be split up into parts although it is a one-shot, okay? I just kinda totally forgot about this story for a while, finally typed it up, gotta beta, and decided to post.

Special thanks to the wonderful person on gaiaonline who was generous enough to be my beta for this, Headhunter! I know you're probably fed up with me saying this, but THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! (As all of you know because of my crappy spelling and stuff, he was the first person to beta my work xD THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!)

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is NOT mine... but Rozzy is... xD

* * *

**Changing Views**

**A One-Shot**

**(Part One)**

**By: Peasant Girl**

I'm not supposed to be grateful to her…but I'm straying from that path.

You see, Hermione Granger and I were Hears this year, forcing us to be in constant view of the other _and_ share a common room. It had been Dumbledore's idea; the old fool had planned out our seventh year by then it seems and Professor McGonagall had found them. It was like he was expecting to die. Moron.

At first there were doubts and protest at this new founding, people angered at the old Headmaster's proposition. They said Slytherin and Gryffindor shouldn't be mixed together; we were mortal enemies and would tear each other apart. Putting us in the same room would only end up as a disaster.

I, too, thought that as well at the beginning. The idea of me constantly being in her filthy presence made my father and me sick to the stomach. Granger wasn't too fond of the proposal either. So we didn't have any second thoughts about complaining as well.

McGonagall, however, would not be persuaded. 'Professor Dumbledore was a wise old man,' she had told everyone, 'and I believe his word holds more weight than all of yours put together, even if it is the most dumb-ass thing he's thought of.' Okay, okay, so maybe she didn't phrase it _quite_ like that, but it seemed that way to my ears.

No matter how persistent my father was, the batty woman wouldn't change her mind. That is, unless I wanted to lose my new title—and no way in hell would that've happened. Even if I didn't want it, Dad would have forced it on me. Power is power, he had told me, no matter what trash we have to push through.

Before we knew it summer was over and Granger and I found ourselves standing in the middle of a luxurious commons taking in the expense. Not surprisingly I felt right at home—except for the red and gold I found clashing horridly with silver and green. McGonagall stood behind, watching us with dry amusement. She always had that weird look on, now that Dumbledore was gone. Ha, I always knew they had a "thing" for each other.

Before she left in a bigger rush I'd ever seen her in, she quickly pointed out everything there and told us to _try_ not to tear each other apart.

When the sound of the portrait closing reached my ears I looked over to see Granger glaring daggers at me with those dirty, brown eyes. I returned the gesture with a sickening sneer. In that moment we made an unspoken agreement: We'd stay out of each other's way, we would speak only when forced. Outside the room we'd ignore the other's presence and try to keep our groups as separate as possible.

And it worked out better than I had thought. Granger was barely ever there, in fact—I presumed she was with Potty and Weasel—and left me to my own business. When she was there, however, she made her presence discreet. Every time she entered, the Mudblood would walk straight and purposely to her room; ignoring the beautiful commons she had once gawked at the first night.

In the mornings I would wake only to find her long gone: the only way you could tell she was ever there was an empty mug that one held a hot beverage sitting on the coffee table, still warm from recent use. It was kind of like living with a ghost.

Every time we were given a task for Head duties, Granger would always snatch it away from my grasp before I had the chance, and run off to her dorm and start on it there, never asking for my help. For some reason that ticked me off.

For about four months that's how things went: I'd relax while she freely did all our shared work. Whenever we'd happen to cross paths in the halls we would give each other strained smiles (as requested by McGonagall) and hurriedly pushed our posse apart before they had the chance to stir up trouble. I guess you could say it was a good system…but at the same time I felt like ripping something to shreds; don't ask why—I was asking myself the same thing.

All that time I was wondering why. Maybe it was because of her constantly running away from my company when I was alone. Maybe it was because I secretly knew she was much brighter than I. But never in my wildest dreams did I think it was because she was the reason I began to think in a different light.

At least not until that night.

It was just the beginning of December and a blizzard was hitting hard outside. I was spending the evening peacefully cooped up in the Head's commons, laying on the couch while I used the spare time to catch up on my Dark Arts reading. Of course Granger wasn't there; she never was

My "supposed" friends had invited me to a party that night—and any Slytherin could've told you what that meant: drinking and sex. It was a tradition. There were two things holding me back from going; one was Pansy, who was hanging a little bit too close for my comfort if you catch my drift. The second was I just wasn't in the mood to hang out with a bunch of loud, drunk blokes, even as much fun as it sounded. Please, note the sarcasm.

So yes, I, the Slytherin Sex God, skipped a horny party to read. Is that really such a big surprise?

I was just finishing up the last couple pages of chapter ten when there was a knocking outside the portrait. Thinking it was for me, I stormed over ready to tell whomever it was to fuck off. They knew I wanted peace so what gave? You can only guess the shock I was in when I saw Potty awkwardly standing there; Granger never had anyone over—especially the Golden Boy himself. It was kind of like one of our unspoken rules.

"What do you want, Potter?" I spat at him venomously. "Don't think I saw your glorious face enough today?"

"Shut up, Malfoy." A look of disgust crinkled his forehead. "I was just wondering if Hermione was here." For the faintest second a flicker of worry passed his face. "Know where she is?"

I kept my bored expression on when I glared at him. "Why would I care where the Mudblood is?" I said to the Boy-Who-Fucking-Lived. "She's probably off shagging Weasel anyways." To my dismay for the second time that night, however, Weasley himself came rounding the corner as I slammed the door before Potter could respond, his face red in what I expected to be anger.

For a second I stood there, my mind wandering to Granger's well being. But I quickly pushed it aside and went back to the couch, cursing the disturbance before continuing on with my book. I couldn't concentrate though. My mind would wander off in random directions as I skimmed the words pointlessly, forcing myself to go over them again until I got it right.

Frustrated, I finally gave up on that and threw the book aside. Then I was left lying on the couch with nothing to do. I tried closing my eyes and taking a nap. That didn't work—I found my foot jittering restlessly, begging for movement. So I complied. Push-ups, mountain climbers, crunches, jumping jacks—anything to wear my body down. And it worked: After a tortuously long hour and a half I felt sleep coming over me.

Too lazy to go to my own room, I called for a pillow and sheet and flopped down comfortably on the couch once more.

It seemed I could not fall into a complete slumber, though; my mind was awake but at the same time drifting in and out of consciousness. No matter what my head refused to rest. So, deciding to catch up on the Golden Trio gossip by Granger herself, I watched the entrance and waited for it to open. I knew it wouldn't be long: it was already 8:15 PM and the girl had East Patrol that night at nine. She would need to come back and get ready like she always did.

She never came.

At fifteen 'til I began to wonder where she was. 9:00 and still no sign. I wondered if she forgot about her shift. Thirty-past and I decided she continued on without stopping here first. It wasn't until 11:15 that I gave into my anxiety: her shift had ended an hour ago.

All the while I lay there snuggled comfortably in my blanket, looking from clock to door, clock to door. Of course asking where the Mudblood would be under my family's stat, so going to the Headmistress or other staff was out of the question. I cursed my purity for the first time.

I tried to get Granger out of my head but failed to do so. What had happened to the perfect Trio? I replayed what had happened at the portrait hole in my head over and over and wondered where the girl had been while this occurred. Potter worried; Weasley mad—that most likely left Granger in the library sobbing, right? Gahh, these thoughts were killing me. Since when did I start caring about their stupid catfights? They were just a small obstacle in my way, is all.

None of the less, my thoughts were stuck on it.

A few minutes later there was another knocking at the portrait. A scrawny third year boy was standing there, bouncing on the balls of his feet. And as soon as I opened the door he shoved the letter in my face, told me it was from McGonagall and they couldn't use owls because of the storm, and then was gone in a flash most likely to deliver more. I opened the letter on the spot, eagerly tearing the envelope away and unfolding the parchment to read the old bat's scribbles:

Hermione was badly injured and, being Head Boy, it would only be the honorable thing for me to be there at the Hospital Wing.

Without thinking, I started off to the nurses', my feet traveling a bit faster than I wished. It wasn't until I was one fourth of the way there that I realized the numbing cold surrounding my body and I looked down: besides my winter robe, all I was wearing was a pair of silky-green pajama bottoms. "Shit." I could only be grateful nobody was out at the time and rushed back to my room.

Fully dressed this time, I slowly walked (yes, _slowly_—I caught myself this time) towards my destination, wondering what had happened to Granger and if the Golden Boy and his sidekick were involved like I had predicted. I didn't wonder about her health, of course; my pride wouldn't allow it.

After about ten minutes, I finally dragged myself into the infirmary. I rested against the doorframe and watched from afar, letting the scene unravel before me: Potty, Weasel, Weaselette and some other idiotic Gryffindors were surrounding a limp and pale body—obviously the mudblood—McGonagall among them as well.

The two red heads were arguing off to the side, arms flailing and getting into each other's faces. Potter was kneeling at the bed and holding one of Granger's bloodless hands, everyone around him either crying or whispering worriedly. It was quite the sight.

In a flash a small woman bumped into me as she quickly passed by, arms full of herbs and other junk. "Oh! I'm sorry," Madam Pomfrey said, spinning around to face me. "Why, hello, Mr. Malfoy! Is there anything you need? Caught another stomachache?" Most of the students giggled at her last remark and I glared at them to shut up.

"No, Poppy, he's with us." It was McGonagall who spoke. "Come on over now, Draco. Take a seat."

I scowled dangerously at her and stomped in the opposite direction, finding a chair in a corner and plopping down. They were all still staring at me so I flipped them off. Thankfully McGonagall didn't force me to come sit any closer—for one I didn't want to be around the blokes; and two it left me room to think. My guess was that Granger and Weasley got into another one of their famous lover spats…only this time going a bit further than it usually did.

It would only make sense, seeing as I hadn't heard of any fights between them this year. Maybe Weasel finally broke and hit the bitch. Yep, that was my conclusion. But…could one little hit knock her out cold like that? I thought back to all those senseless Muggle Health studies and came up with that, yes, it was possible.

Right then I would've given anything to punch the bastard as he stormed off and out of the Wing. I mean, even _I _haven't hit a girl. It just wasn't right

Truthfully I didn't want to leave the infirmary when the Headmistress rushed us out once it was past visiting hours. For some reason, I wanted to stay and wait for the mudblood to wake-up and confirm my anger towards Weasley. Nothing towards her, of course: that would be out of line. No, I was just curious on what had happened to the Golden Trio. I was interested in seeing if it would finally fall to pieces.

My mind was sleepless and a thick queasiness filled my body. In the morning I woke up at 4:30 (two hours earlier than usual) and dragged around the commons pointlessly. When I looked in the mirror after a long, hot shower I noticed small dark half-circles under my eyes—clashing badly with my skin that seemed more pale than ever.

It took me only forty-five minutes to get ready, leaving me with a ton of time and nothing to do (just like the night before, eh?). I couldn't just go down to breakfast—everyone would be wondering why I was so early; I had a reputation to keep up, and strangely enough people seemed to notice stupid things like that.

So I found myself sitting on the couch again with a steaming-hot cup of coffee and staring blankly into the fireplace. Thoughts of Granger pushed their way to my head as I carelessly gulped down the scalding liquid, my throat burning like the deep fire in hell. I chose to ignore this as my point of view switched to different people:

I thought of Granger and how she could stand all the insults we Slytherins threw at her day after day. And she was still the best student of our year. No wonder she was Potter's best friend—her will was strong and no matter what she never gave up. Her faith was powerful and I envied her for that.

I thought of Potter and what it must be like to go day after day wondering if it is time for him to finally face off with the Dark Lord and decide their fate. The constant reminder that he was the main course in if the life right now would change for the better or not must bring more pressure than most kids our age could even imagine. I shivered at even thinking of fighting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

I thought of my own father and how he could be such a suck up. I mean, I know it's a good thing he's on His good side (I couldn't imagine us _not_), but it annoyed me how kids on the Light side constantly taunting me with it. They weren't completely right, though: it took more than being a suck-up to be one of the few loyal servants of the Dark Lord. Why else do you think he was in Azkaban?

Then I thought about the 'Big Guy' himself. Truthfully, I'd never been a big fan of Him. Of course I obeyed his every order—but not like he was God Himself. No, if anything I should actually hate him. I should hate him for turning my father into what he is today; I should hate him for using my parents as dolls for his own enjoyment; I should hate him for many things. But I can't—Father would kill me if he ever found out about things like this.

Lastly I thought of myself and how I could let my mind drift off in those directions. My life was laid out in front of me and I had no say in how it went. My mother had once told me that fate sometimes took control of everything you do, that we had no choice but to follow the footsteps that were laid out for us. But, then why was I feeling so uncomfortable?

It was all Granger's fault, I knew. If she hadn't messed herself up I wouldn't be having this weird change of view, or at least it would have been put off for a while. Perhaps it was her destiny mixed in with mine for this to happen, if that made any sense. Or maybe it was just a glitch… Wait; was there even such a _thing_ in fate?

None of the less, she was causing these varied feelings I couldn't quite describe, and I really didn't like them. It was like I wasn't sure of my own standings, and a Malfoy always knew where he stood.

Eight cups more of coffee and a lot of self-arguing later, I found it finally time to leave. But, when I made a move to stand, I only ended up puking my very guts out on the table. Plus when I opened my mouth to curse, the only sound that came was a hoarse croak followed closely by a series of coughs…and then more puking. Yep, chugging down that much hot coffee was _not_ good for you. I guess you could say that was kind of my 'lesson of the day.'

Feeling like crap, I fell back on the couch and moaned. The best thing I found to do in this situation was sit completely still and breath in deeply through my nose, seeing as my throat was currently working on what seemed like a third degree burn, and wait until my stomach didn't feel like it would heave at any given moment again. As soon as that was clear, I began to think: I couldn't speak, my stomach seemed to be a motion detector, and a burning sensation covered my entire throat; the perfect reason to miss classes if you asked me.

Truthfully, though, I was feeling a lot better after an hour. The only thing keeping me back was the fact that I was still unable to speak. Of course a simple herb potion would heal that up in a matter of seconds, but whatever. I could always use the excuse of being too 'weak' to bring myself to the infirmary; it always seems to work when I had to give a reason for other times. Plus, it felt like I probably lost a good pound or two. Oh, well—just gave me a reason to eat more later at the Slytherin table and Pansy couldn't complain about me losing my figure, that stupid bitch.

It wasn't until 1:00 (right after lunch hour and time for my first evening class, potions) that a scrawny-looking house elf appeared with an ear-shattering crack, supplied with cleaning equipment for the daily run over. This really wasn't necessary, though: whenever Granger was here, she was always zooming about, tidying up the commons, and I, practically being raised by my mother, was not one to leave belongings unattended. You would have thought the stupid creatures got the picture after half a year of perfectionist.

Normally they had enough wits to realize I was in the room—but obviously this one didn't. Which is really retarded, seeing as I was splayed out wildly on the couch with schoolbooks and parchment all around me (Hey, gotta keep the 'oh-so-wonderful' title of SECOND best student, right?). It just scurried about the room, scrubbing at invisible stains and dusting invisible dust. All the wile it was oblivious to me following it lazily with my eyes. Until, finally, it turned away from polishing the fireplace mantel.

"Eeps! Mister Malfoy!" The short creature stumbled backwards and landed on its butt before awkwardly saluting me from on the ground. "Mister Malfoy sir," it said again with that annoyingly high-pitched voice, trying to regain some its lost composure. "Rozzy so sorry—he never no saw Mister. Very, very sorry is Rozzy. Please let Mister Malfoy sir accept Rozzy's big apology" He said all this so fast I barely caught it all.

Rolling my eyes, I waved my hand as in telling him to leave me be. The stupid creature didn't seem to get the point, though. "Why is Mister Malfoy here when he should be at classes right now?" Rozzy said with a sickly innocent expression plastered on his face. 'And why,' I wanted to retort, 'is stupid Rozzy speaking in third person when he should be in first?' But the house elf didn't notice my venomous glare and kept speaking. "Perhaps Head Boy is sick?"

Although I continued glaring at him, I pointed a finger at my throat, hoping he'd get the injury; he did and gasped in horror. "Oh, no, Rozzy was right!" he squeaked. "And now Head Girl Missus, _and_ Head Boy is sickly! Rozzy must quickly go for help!"

The rag-clothed creature skittered towards the door and I called out to stop him, which, not surprisingly, only ended with me gagging. So instead I picked up the nearest thing—happening to be a three hundred-and-fifty paged book—and threw it with all my strength. My good aim played out and a corner of the book smacked him straight in the back of his head. Poor ol' Rozzy let out a yelp before landing face-first on the tile floor. Everything was quiet for a moment before I bust out into laughter. It was just so funny, the way his scrawny figure was splayed out helplessly, twitching every few seconds.

My laugh was more of a strangled cry and every second tore at my throat harshly, but at the same time it felt good for a chance of mood. All that stressful thinking had started to get to me.

Once I regained my control, I stood up, still a bit wary from recent episodes, and walked purposely to the elf and stopped, towering over his little, fallen form. When Rozzy finally clambered to his feet again, he looked up at me (a brief look of sadness) and rubbed the back of his head with a wincing expression; I smirked grandly.

He stared at me with wide eyes, pleading silently for an explanation of why I sent him spiraling down. So I complied and motioned for pin and paper with my hands. Surprisingly he understood and ran over to the couch where my supplies were, bring back the material I requested; he was jumping up and down eagerly. "Why is it Mister Malfoy sir stopped Rozzy, please?"

I just grabbed the parchment and ink quill and scribbled a quick, simple note down: Go to the Hospital Wing, get a potion for my throat, and come back here. Then I thrust it back into his hands and waited. Rozzy looked down at the writing for a moment before frowning and we both remembered—house elves were not intelligent enough to read.

He slowly raised his face towards me and we locked eyes, his somewhat worried. "S-sir, Rozzy cannot read those letters," he stampered, taking a stumbling step away from me. "Rozzy ad other elves never were taught those. They just know how to cook and clean, Mister Malfoy sir."

I groaned and slid a hand down my face in annoyance, rolling my eyes. So I bent down and balanced on the balls of my feet so we were eye to eye; he looked eager and nervous at the same time. I got straight down to business.

Pointing to him, I mouthed the word 'you.' He got it right away: "Rozzy." I nodded and he beamed proudly. I continued on without waiting for him; it would defiantly get harder as I went on. Next I placed the index and middle fingers of my left hand on my right palm, swinging them back and forth in a walking movement. "Walk." I nodded again and he put the two words together: Rozzy walk—"

Truthfully I was quite impressed with the little guy's ability to read my signs. Most house elves couldn't do that, I think. Then I thought back to when he first came in and how he didn't even realize I was in the room forever. 'Well,' I contemplated, 'I guess everyone has their own ups and downs…some bigger than others.'

It only took a mere thirty-minutes for us to complete the simple sentence, some words taking longer than others. For the Hospital Wing, I took out a map of Hogwarts and traced a path from the Head's to the infirmary. For the potion, I pointed to my throat with a sad expression, picked up an empty vile and 'drank' the contents, then pointed to my throat again and smiled a terribly cheesy smile. For the last part I drew another route back to the Head's and pointed at myself.

"Rozzy walk Hospital Wing, get potion for Malfoy sir, Head's commons room, Mister Malfoy sir!" Rozzy said over and over again. "Rozzy walk Hospital Wing, get potion for Malfoy sir, Head's commons room, Mister Malfoy sir. Rozzy walk Hospital Wing, get potion for Malfoy sir, Head's commons room, Mister Malfoy sir. Rozzy walk Hospital Wing, get potion for Malfoy sir, Head's commons room, Mister Malfoy sir…" I waved at him to shut up and motioned to the door, telling him to go get my request. "Mister Malfoy sir wants Rozzy to go now get his potion?" he questioned stupidly and I nodded. "Okay then, Head Boy sir! Rozzy go do that now!"

And the house elf slowly trudged out of the room, mumbling under his breath the stupid sentence. But as soon as he took step outside the door, Rozzy turned around and faced me one last time. "Rozzy walk Hospital Wing, get potion for Malfoy sir, Head's commons room, Mister Malfoy sir?" he asked. I just rolled my eyes (trying to hide my smile), nodded for the millionth time that day, and slammed the portrait door in his face. Hopefully brilliant ol' Rozzy did not only memorized it, I thought, but can also comprehend exactly what it means…

* * *

A/N: Well, what do you think? Did I put Draco in character or not? lol, I'm not quite sure what I think of it xD All I know is that it was a fun thing to write when I had nothing to do lol.

Please don't be expecting an up-date too soon; this is one of my stories where I write down on paper before I finally type up. So it might be a while for part two. Plus I'm working on some other stories of my own and Muggle World.

Thanks for reading and please review!!


End file.
